


Amygdala

by AvocadoGuro



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Medical Experimentation, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Post-Recall, Redemption, Sense Memory, Slow Burn, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 21:45:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9258488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvocadoGuro/pseuds/AvocadoGuro
Summary: After attacking a Amelie Lacroix's family cheateau, former Overwatch agents kidnap the infamous Widowmaker in an attempt to convert her back to who she was before the heavy mental reconditioning and physical experimentation she endured long ago. The assassin's complicated relationships with the many people at Watchpoint Gibraltar causes a stir among the agents, but the angelic Doctor Ziegler mends bruises from the past in order to restore compassion and understanding in the cold and harsh mind of the Talon agent.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is planned to be a multi-chapter fanfiction, but updates will not be regular. Critiques are appreciated since I am often working to improve my writing capabilities. Let me know if you enjoyed reading this chapter in the comments below or by leaving a kudos!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an editing session with this chapter recently, to match new and old lore a bit better. I hope you all like the changes.

 

In the dark, a woman sat up in her bed. The silk sheets caressed her skin, and her violet hair fell across her shoulders. A sigh erupted from her lips, and she massaged her eyes to catch the time on the clock on the bedside table. It read five o’clock in the morning. She breathed deeply through her nose, allowing herself to focus on waking up entirely.

Her back ached from the previous night’s endeavors, and she could still smell the lingering scent of gunpowder on her skin. She rubbed her face, realizing she forgot to wash it of the makeup she wore to disguise her odd, icy skin. The talc laced the tips of her fingers, and she stared down at them, eyes scanning the design of her fingerprints.

She remembered seducing an official in his office. She remembered the smell of alcohol on his breath. How he thought he could run his hands all over her thin frame. The woman’s nose crinkled and a frown formed on her face at the memory. She remembered the fear in his eyes when she raised a silenced pistol to his head. “Adieu, mon ami,” she whispered playfully in his ear before pulling the trigger. 

Reaching over the side of her bed, the woman pulled out a holovid reader to peruse the national news of the day.

“DORADO MAYOR FOUND DEAD.”

The woman chuckled to herself, “not one of Widowmaker’s finest targets.” Her hotel room was still rather dark, and the assassin pulled herself out of bed to open the curtains. She wore nothing but a comfortable night robe as she looked out the window to the colorful town below her. Honey eyes bore into her own reflection and she crossed her arms, sighing. She thought aloud, saying “The makeup was a bit much…” to the picture of what she once was standing in front of her.

Last night, before starting her mission, Widowmaker had disguised herself with flesh colored makeup. She made her skin seem healthy with a gentle blush, and contouring of her eye sockets and cheeks. Sure, she was already thin, but to make her face, neck, and hands come off as her natural tone, she had to use a variety of foundations and paints. She still had the whole disguise kit with her. The news talked about a red kiss being left on the officials cheek. Widowmaker snickered at her little gift.

Moving from the window, she started to pack her things.. The pistol she used was given to her a few nights before by a Talon agent. At first, she refused, wanting to shoot him from a distance like all of her past targets, but whoever was in charge wanted to make it clear that his death was not public. Widowmaker followed the instructions to the “T.” After packing her bloody secretary uniform, the assassin washed her face, neck, and hands of the disguise. She tightened her hair back into the high ponytail she was used to, and got ready to leave. Activating her communication device, the woman awaited orders.

 

The ship had landed a few rooftops away. With her bag slung across her shoulder, the assassin climbed from her window, the city still quiet and the streets still in the morning air. Already having equipped her grappling hook, Widowmaker made her way to the ship with ease. Her superiors acknowledged her with a simple nod, and her partners Reaper and Sombra awaited her in the back. The ship started to take off the minute she boarded. Her comrades beckoned her over and Sombra held a smirk of pride on her face.

“What is that look for, Sombra,” Widowmaker challenged.

“Oh, nothing, I was just wondering how you felt about that… I guess you could say, close quarters encounter?” She spoke with a childish giggle through her sentence, and Widowmaker scoffed in response.

“Fat men that smell of Corona are not worth my time.” She said, crossing her arms and deciding to end the topic there. “May I sit?” The sniper motioned towards the empty seat of the booth.

“You may,” Reaper responded. 

They sat, talking about their escapades from the last two nights in Mexico for awhile. The plane was quiet, and no one seemed to want to bother the three assailants. Sombra boasted about accessing some Top Secret files from Lumerico and Reaper spoke briefly about the chaos he caused in the same office building Widowmaker had murdered the repugnant CEO. The Talon affiliates shared a few dark bits of humour amongst themselves and Sombra would’ve sworn that she noticed the tiniest spark of amusement in Widowmaker’s eyes, even with her lips sternly pursed together in a neutral position.

The assassin had requested she be taken to her old family home, Chateau Guillard. A place she recently regained ownership of, and was working to refurbish to her liking. Reaper and Sombra both decided to find Doomfist somewhere in England. They all managed to eat and sleep comfortably on the ship as the hours passed. Widowmaker read a book, Sombra analyzed some information, and Reaper kept to himself, seeming particularly quiet.

Passing over the Atlantic, Widowmaker caught herself watching the water through the ship’s windows. The clouds were perfectly white puffs, and the ocean was a dark cerulean. Her eyes followed the birds that flew by, and she silently wondered what it was like to be so capable and free.

She waved Reaper and Sombra off as Akande greeted them at the platform. Widowmaker offered the man a nod, and he grinned knowingly her way. “Have fun in your castle,” he said as the ship began to start up again.

“I believe I will.”

And she did. The moment the air of the lake surrounding the Chateau hit her face, a gentle smile played on her lips. The absolute silence was refreshing, and as she took a deep breath through her nose, she closed her eyes and took it all in for a moment of complete relaxation. She strolled beneath the statue in her courtyard, noting how the paint in the entryway had dried while she was away. The scent of chemicals had dissipated, and her heels echoed through the halls on her way to the cellar. 

“Mm,” she hummed appreciatively at the sight of her wine collection. Grabbing a bottle she had been meaning to try, she sat herself in a nearby plush chair, lighting the oil lamp and pouring herself a glass.

About an hour had passed when Widowmaker heard a disturbance within the Chateau. She recognized the sounds of a ship coming out of camouflage, and the deft rhythm of air releasing from the engine. She collected herself, tucking her visor over her eyes and scanning all around her. The visor caught the thermal images of a group, and she sighed, annoyed at the outline of a gorilla.

“So they have come, after all.” Widowmaker muttered, collecting her gun and leaving her unfinished glass of  grenache on the side table. Turning off her lamp, she began to pad softly through the dark hallway, using her visor to guide her. The unwelcome guests were grouped on the other side of the castle, and she could hear radio static and whispers. The sniper hooked to her ceiling, using momentum to throw herself to a balcony where they were in her sights. She lined up a shot, and as her finger slowly curled around the hair trigger, a shout rang out.

“Shooter on the balcony! Get down!” Widowmaker recognized the voice as the gorilla scientist that she had seen earlier. She groaned, backing away from the ledge, and into her bedroom. Throwing open her wardrobe, she fiercely withdrew an extra cartridge of ammo from behind her hanging blouses. Throwing the container onto the bed, she opened the chamber, and quickly filled the empty space. The pounding of footsteps up her woods stairs alarmed her, and she slew her gun across her shoulders, running and diving off the balcony, hooking and swinging to her courtyard.

 

Ever since the recall of Overwatch agents, Talon had seen more trouble than they would’ve liked. This was one of those incidents. She was annoyed, for sure, and that was the only emotion she seemed to feel since her reconditioning. Soon enough, she could hear people heading for the courtyard. She squat behind a bush, hearing the familiar sound of monkey’s Tesla gun. Widowmaker clicked her tongue and squinted, waiting for the Gorilla to grow closer. She raised her gun to her chest, taking in a deep, silent breath. Ana Amari followed, asking Winston for any knowledge on Widowmaker’s location. He motioned silently to the bush and the assassin tightened her grip on the Widow’s Kiss.

“Put down your gun, Widowmaker, you’ve lost,” Captain Amari said. “You can’t win. You’re outnumbered.” Ana’s voice was so calm, yet challenging. Her aged tone brought a smirk to the icy woman’s face. Pitiful old woman, she thought.

As the assassin looked for a ledge to escape to, she realized she would be open season if she moved anywhere.

“ You were once a legend, but what are you now?” she questioned, voice challenging from behind the shrubbery. “Just a shadow of a woman.” Widowmaker heard Winston close in, so she tossed her gun to the side and raised a hand to signal them not to shoot.

“I take it you do not want my autograph, then.” Ana replied, aiming her own rifle at the Talon agent. Winston laid down a barrier, and Genji Shimada and Dr. Angela Ziegler had walked under it’s protection. “Lay down your weapon.” Ana ordered. Widowmaker sighed and kicked her gun to the side. Angela used her caduceus as a hook to pull the rifle under the shield. The assassin stood and put her hands up in defeat, and was soon rendered unconscious by Ana’s sleep dart. Even in her defeat, Widowmaker wore a smirk as she slept. Genji helped carry her to the ship’s holding cell along. The ship was fired up and Amari had set the course for the base at Gibraltar. 

 

It was a long couple hours after the Talon affiliate had awaken in her cell.

“We had a duty, and we must fulfill it. We must interrogate her.” Genji offered after seeing the woman had risen. Winston nodded, and he made his way to the holding cell. Ana stopped him.

“We will wait until we have reached Gibraltar. Winston, you will not interrogate her, but you will sit in front of that cell in watch until we have arrived.”

“With all due respect, Ms. Amari, I believe Mr. Shimada would be a better candidate to deal with her. I’m far too kind.” The gorilla motioned towards the other man. Genji nodded, but collected himself before turning to leave.

“I will not acknowledge her with kindness,” he said, placing his mask over his face as he padded his way through the ship. As he drew closer, he heard the humming of a classical tune. Widowmaker was sitting, playing with her hair when Genji approached on the other side of the glass. “Tchaikovsky... “ he said, addressing the song the woman was humming. He could not remember the title of the composition, however. He sat, staring at her with a gentle smile behind the mask. She stopped humming to answer him.

“It’s from Swan Lake… the ballet.” She said, still not making eye contact and being more invested in fingering out a knot in her hair. Genji continued to stare right through her, and she could feel his eyes on her. “What do you want?”

“Nothing. I am just surprised by your knowledge of the classics.” He chuckled, being honest. She squinted at his response, finally looking at the man in front of her. 

“Hmm… Mr. Shimada, is it?” She asked, feigning to be genuine.

“That is my name, yes.” He answered, ready for her to spew disrespect his way.

“Why did you choose to be with them? They destroyed your family.” Widowmaker remarked. She hoped mentioning his past would get some form of reaction out of him.

“Maybe so, but I am a new man born from the ashes of what I once was.” He responded wisely. With all of his years of training, he could not hear her heartbeat. Widowmaker rolled her eyes at him and went back to humming. She shifted to a more comfortable cross-legged position in the awkward blue plastic seat. They stayed silent for awhile until the clicking of heels could be heard from down the hallway.

“Seems we have a visitor,” Widowmaker said, pointing her chin to the woman walking closer to the holding cell. She looked at Genji who stood to switch places with the doctor. He left without a word and Widowmaker looked upon Angela with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, so now you are taking turns baby sitting me. Lovely.” Angela sighed at the response and pulled out a holovid to play for her prisoner. 

“Your friends did not get to have the meeting they would have liked. Talon operatives are in our care.” The holovid showed exactly what the doctor had said. The footage seemed to have come from mobile devices from local authorities. “Your friends really didn’t know we were coming, it seems.” Widowmaker sat back in her chair, unfazed. 

“If I really cared about them, you would already be dead, Doctor.” Her cool lips curled into a smirk and her honey eyes looked condescendingly into Angela’s. The blonde did not feel threatened, but instead she gave Widowmaker a patient smile. The assassin grew annoyed by the doctor’s pacifist attitude, but asked her a question. “Why haven’t you just killed me? Everyone in Overwatch knows that I’m guilty.” 

“You will find that out when we touch down.” The doctor stood from her seat. “But for now, you can sit here in silence. It won’t be long.” She pressed the keypad behind her that activated the soundproofing of the cell. When Widowmaker asked what she did, Angela replied with a hand cupped around her ear and a fake “what?” motion. The prisoner rolled her eyes and moved to the dirty mattress in the corner of the cell. Angela remained standing in front of the cell for the next few minutes until Ana activated the comm and mentioned that they would be landing. 

Later on, Ana and Angela were back in front of the assassin’s cell. Ana turned off the soundproofing and jangled a pair of handcuffs. 

Widowmaker sighed, “you’re treating me like a mutt on a leash.” Ana chuckled at the comment.

Angela unlocked and opened the thick, glass door, and Ana applied the cuffs. 

“Not too tight, now. We haven’t picked a safe word.” Widowmaker winked at the doctor standing in front of her as Ana roughly made the metal bangles tighter around the assassin’s small wrists.

“Be quiet,” Ana scoffed, “you’re a prisoner here.” Widowmaker rolled her eyes.

The two escorted her off the ship and at the entrance stood Jack Morrison with his gun in his arms. He glared into the back of her head as she was escorted past, and he continued to stare until she was no longer in sight. His duty was to clear the ship officially before they started to adjust the technology within.

As they continued, Widowmaker recognized an all too familiar flash of light pass her and she groaned. Soon enough, the owner of the light stood right in front of her, stopping the escort abruptly. 

“Whatcha lookin’ at?!” The brunette teased.

“An annoyance,” Widowmaker bit.

“Stop it. Lena, don’t you have something to be doing?” Angela asked sternly. Lena looked at her with a somewhat offended expression before nodding dejectedly and blinking away. Ana laughed at the ordeal and Angela elbowed her. “I know she is not liked by many of us, but she is here for a _ reason _ , Ana.” Widowmaker turned her head, confused, expecting an explanation but she didn’t receive one. Instead, they continued in silence to the assassin’s new cell.

This room was far more well kept than the cell on the ship. The mattress had fresh sheets, there was a lid on the toilet, and a table with a chair was also in the room. Widowmaker looked to Angela in disbelief for she was expecting a barred window and a bar door. But, no, it was a nice room with a glass casing. There weren’t any curtains, though, so privacy was obviously not considered. There was a camera in the corner, and Widowmaker wondered if she’d have to use the toilet on camera.

“You will eat and sleep here,” Angela said, “Best get comfortable; you will be here for a while.” The doctor unlocked the handcuffs and Ana shoved the prisoner into her cell. Before Widowmaker had a chance to claw her fingers into her captors’ faces, Angela had shut the glass door and locked it. Widowmaker sat on the bed, glowering pitifully at Ana as she walked away. The doctor stayed a little longer. “I will see you in the morning. Get some rest.”

Widowmaker breathed heavily out of her nose but accepted what she was told. She hadn’t realized how tired she was and so she removed her boots, untied her hair and removed her suit. She didn’t mind the camera even with her body exposed, and she tucked herself under her blankets and quickly fell asleep. 

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but here is chapter 2! I will try to update at least once a month.

Mornings at Gibraltar were always hectic and loud. There was always someone disgruntled about one thing or another, and many members of the team spent the morning at the shooting range. Dr. Ziegler and Winston were in charge of roll-call and handing out breakfast rations. Ana and her daughter Fareeha typically walked about the bunks, waking everyone up with a whistle or a splash of water. Other grunts walked about the Watchpoint shining their weapons, or chatting about future missions.

Widowmaker woke to Ana’s voice over the speakers in the room, and she sat up in the creaky bed to find Angela standing patiently outside the cell. In the doctor’s hands were a set of clothes, presumably for her, Widowmaker thought. Looking suspiciously at her captor, the assassin wrapped the blanket around her chest and stood to pad towards the glass. Angela gave her a small smile which only made the assassin furrow her brows curiously.

“What do you want?” She asked, holding the blanket taut around her thin frame. The doctor raised an eyebrow at not hearing what Widowmaker had said before she remembered that Ana had activated the soundproofing mechanism before going to bed. She motioned a little “oh” before shuffling to the control panel.

“What was that?” Angela asked politely.

“I asked you what you want.” Widowmaker replied.

“Well, you see, I have brought you fresh clothes.” The doctor admitted, holding up the white scrubs for her prisoner to see.

“I do not need your charity. I thought I was here for interrogation.” The cold woman’s voice matched her appearance. Even with the blanket covering her features, she stood with sass and defiance. 

“If you do not want the clothing, that is up to you. I will not make you.” She placed the clothes on a chair outside the cell. Moving closer to the glass, Angela gazed at the human experiment facing her. Widowmaker’s periwinkle skin was absolutely captivating to the doctor, and her discoloured eyes made Angela’s skin crawl. The woman in front of her was the result of a medical phenomenon and the scientist within her wanted to prod and test, but that was for another time.

Widowmaker noticed the staring and she scoffed, “is that how you look at everyone?”  
Angela shook her head and changed her expression back to a poised, professional one.

“Only those with interesting attributes.” Her tone was somewhat cryptic and calculated. Dr. Zeigler sighed. “Anyways,” she started, moving to the chair with the clothes. She held them with deft hands as she sat in the chair herself, pulling it to face Widowmaker. “How about a little chat?”

Looking the doctor up and down briefly, the assassin nodded apathetically, returning to the bed to sit down.

Smiling, Angela crossed one leg over the other. “Good.” She reached into a pocket of her lab coat and pulled out a holopad with her pre-meditated questions. 

Widowmaker relaxed with a smug expression and studied the doctor’s grin. Fake, she thought. No one smiles like that unless they want something, and Angela definitely wanted something. The first question came as a surprise.

“Do you remember your husband?” Ziegler asked, looking up from the device. She recognized the minute reaction Widowmaker gave her when her cold grip tightened ever so slightly on the blanket. Angela raised an eyebrow and waited for a response, but the gunner wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of a direct answer.

“A widow always remembers her first kill,” she said darkly, remembering the night her new personality awakened. Somewhere, deep in the pit of her stomach, something coiled with the tiniest amount of remorse, but it was completely overshadowed by her pride.  
Angela lowered her eyes back to the holopad. She only ever met Gerard Lacroix once, but it was obvious to the doctor that he was respected amongst the first strike team. Especially Ana. 

The doctor moved along to the next question, “Do you mind if I call you Am-”

“Do not finish that question. She is dead.” Widowmaker said, her nose crinkled in disgust.

“Then you prefer ‘Widowmaker?’” She asked for confirmation. Nodding, the woman stared down at Angela with a hard, offended expression. 

Shaking her head, Angela let out a light chuckle and made a note of her subject’s reaction. She’d studied her share of mental rework cases, but this was her first time actually sitting down and questioning the person. It was already interesting.

“Mmm…” Angela hummed quietly to herself, “what process did you go through as a sleeper agent?” The question was forthright and a little daunting, but Widowmaker answered none the less. She could have lied, but she didn’t see the benefit.

“I was programmed with offensive combat tactics and how to retain an unsuspicious façade. Perfect assassin training.” She motioned casually, using her hands to express herself. Angela nodded and whispered a quick “interesting.”. 

“And what about before you became a Talon agent? Do you remember then?”

“What is this? A therapy session or an interrogation?” Widowmaker was growing annoyed with the questions, and more annoyed by the images of her time in the Talon laboratory clouding her mind. 

“Someone is bitter,” the doctor said almost facetiously. In fact, the more testy the sniper became, the more attentive Angela became. 

Despite lacking compassion, Widowmaker seemed to express a small handful of emotions. She showed obvious signs of irritability and passion. From reports collected from other intel, Angela read that the Talon agent seemed to become enamored with her gun in a loving sense. The “Widow’s Kiss,” couldn’t have had a better name, she thought.

“When you’re constantly interrupted during your work, you become bitter, doctor,” Widowmaker was referencing the few times her missions were abruptly stopped due to Overwatch affiliates. Her brain flashed to the obnoxious British woman who never knew when to quit. She crossed her arms impatiently, looking at the doctor with disdain. 

¨Yes, your… work.¨ The doctor repeated. ¨Tell me about how you are treated by the organization.¨ Looking up to see her subject growing impatient, Angela cocked her head to the side and offered a knowing grin.

Widowmaker squinted at the question, ¨why is that relevant?¨ She asked.

¨I’m just trying to see if a fragile experiment like yourself is getting the treatment you deserve.¨ Angela replied. She sounded monotone, and she eyed Widowmaker waiting for an answer. She purposely used the word fragile because she knew the prisoner’s pride wouldn't allow her to not reply heatedly.

¨If I was so fragile, Ana would still have her right eye.¨ She chuckled to herself, thinking of the shadow of a woman. Angela rolled her eyes, expecting such an answer. 

¨I do not mean physically, dear. Your brain is what is fragile.¨ Lifting a hand, the doctor tapped her temple with two fingers. She sat back in her chair, shifting her legs to cross each other. ¨All that brainwashing has most likely made your limbic system a fascinating specimen.¨ 

¨I am not some caged animal that you can probe,¨ Widowmaker bit, curling her fingers around the edge of the blanket. 

¨You’re a prisoner in a cell so technically, you are a caged animal.¨ Smirking to herself, Angela typed some notes into her holopad. ¨Responds poorly to blows to her pride.¨ The sniper scoffed.

Angela remained quiet for a few moments, finishing up her notes. She was no psychiatrist, but her observations indicated that despite being ¨emotionless,¨ Widowmaker displayed protection of her dignity and seemed to clutch onto her cold, fear-striking image. The doctor believed this was the assassin’s weakness, and she pondered just how delicate the conditioning of Amelie Lacroix’s brain really was. She wrote a hypothesis into the holopad. ¨If we can remove the personality currently installed into our subject´s brain, we can return her to her original mindset.¨ How Angela would go about that was another subject entirely.

¨Back to how Talon treats you...¨ The doctor began, ¨do you have your own quarters? Do they nourish you?¨

“I eat and sleep when I have to, if that is what you mean.” Widowmaker responded callously. She was growing bored of the doctor’s questions, and her face displayed her languor. 

“Oh, well, since you eat,” Angela reached into her other coat pocket and pulled out a green apple. She stood, moving to the cell’s pull out drop box, laying the fruit inside and pushing it in for Widowmaker to eat. “Would you like some water as well?” She asked, offering an inquisitive smile.

The sniper stood to grab the apple, taking a bite as she looked the doctor up and down. “Oui,” she answered. The tart fruit tasted so nice on her dry tongue, and she closed her eyes for a moment to savor the taste. She heard Angela shuffling around outside so she opened her eyes to find the white scrubs placed neatly inside the drawer. 

“Get dressed. I will bring you some water and then we will continue.” Walking away from the glass, Angela headed to the rec room. Widowmaker was hesitant to change into the clothing. She knew the camera was on and she wondered if anyone was actually watching. Not that it really mattered to her since she was used to strangers examining her body. She laid the blanket back onto the mattress, and pulled herself into the clothing. She stared at the camera with a smug expression during it all.

Doctor Ziegler skittered rather quickly to the recreational section of the base. A few people were speaking amongst themselves at the tables in the small eatery. The group consisted of Ana Amari, Jack Morrison, Lena Oxton, and the gorilla scientist, Winston. As Angela entered, her heels clicking against the cement, the group turned to greet her. 

“How is she?” Winston asked, lowering his eyes to look at her over the rims of his glasses. Ana and Jack shifted uncomfortably, as they looked up at her from their seats. 

“Our prisoner is just how we assumed.” Angela answered honestly, “she is defiant and cold, but…”

“But what?” Lena asked, her voice a little too excited to hear how her rival was acting whilst locked up.

“Well... “ she pulled her holopad from her pocket and displayed it for them to see, “I believe her current personality can be crushed and returned to who she was before.” Silence fell about the room, and Ana lowered her eyes, remembering a simpler time.

“You mean when she was married to Gerard…?” Her voice was low, but as she looked down at the floor, an unspoken feeling of dread filled the room. Angela was careful with her response.

“I… Yes.” Her answer was simple, for she understood how Ana felt about Amelie’s turn. “Though her muscle memory from these last few years will remain, I believe.” She rocked back and forth on her heels gently, expecting someone to comment.

“What you’re saying is that she will retain her abilities as an assassin?” Morrison was the one who spoke what was on everyone’s mind. His voice was gruff and rustic. Seemed he had only been awake for a few minutes.

“She better not give any of us any trouble,” Lena huffed lowly. The doctor placed the tablet on the table.

“I’m saying that we could use her as our own asset.” Angela spoke with a little bite in her voice, aware of the other’s worries, but wanting to console their fear. “We wouldn’t have to train her, we’d just need to slowly introduce her back into our side of the fight.”

Winston nodded, but Lena and Ana crossed their arms over their chests and looked at Angela with pure skepticism. 

“I for one know what she is capable of,” Amari said, adjusting the strap on her eye patch, “and if you are certain that it is possible, all responsibility is on you, tabib. If anything goes wrong this is on you and your team of scientists.”

Angela blinked, feeling a little challenged by her elder. She furrowed her brows, “I am completely aware of the risks, Ana.” She looked to Winston for help and he noticed the gaze. He reached out a hand and rested it on Amari’s shoulder.

“Let’s see how things go these next few days before scrutinizing Angela. I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.” He adjusted his glasses and gave the doctor a little blink of reassurance. Morrison who had stayed quiet gave his own nod, but Lena and Ana still held wary expressions. 

“If that woman hurts anyone here, we’re dropping your experiment.” Ana’s voice wasn’t necessarily cold, but it wasn’t inviting either. She placed a hand atop Winston’s letting him know she was calm. 

Angela looked down at the ground as if she were being scolded, but she whispered out “I understand.” She took a deep breath before returning her gaze to the group. “I am going to continue speaking with our subject. Please do not interrupt us.” And with that she grabbed a few protein bars, a water bottle, and her holopad and left the soldiers to speak amongst themselves. 

The doctor knew she shouldn’t have spoken so heedlessly, but something within her was determined to make this work. She had already saved many lives despite whether or not her superiors let her. She was set on giving Amelie a second chance. Maybe it was the shreds of humanity that Angela could see in the assassin. Maybe it was the way Widowmaker held herself with pride that confirmed how human she really was. It could’ve been a lot of things.

While the doctor was away, Widowmaker had changed into the soft scrubs and finished the apple. She laid in the squeaky bed and stared at the ceiling, incredibly bored by all of this. She looked at her fingernails and noticed uneven or broken tips, and so she smoothed them out. The assassin wasn’t fidgety when she had nothing to do, but being in a silent glass room with no stimulation whatsoever, was incredibly drab. As she gazed at the trite pattern of the ceiling tiles, she found little shapes in the sound dampening cavities, and imagined what they would do if they were sentient. 

That section looks like a bullet flying between some trees, and that blob of holes looks like a man carrying another’s arm. She chuckled at her own little stories, but as she heard the click of familiar heels walking towards her, she rolled onto her side and held her head up with her palm under her chin.

“I have more food and some water for you.” Angela said as she placed the rations into the drawer. Widowmaker’s eyebrows raised and she stood up to grab the water bottle. She took a few sips, not realizing how thirsty she was, and the doctor gave a patient smile.

“Merci,” the sniper said as she tore open the wrapper of one of the protein bars. Angela nodded and sat herself on the plastic chair again.

“Are you more willing to talk now that there is food in your stomach?” Her voice was light and almost joking, but her question wasn’t rhetorical. 

Widowmaker sighed and sat back on the mattress as she chewed. She gave the doctor a deadpan stare before nodding with a peeved expression. 

“Good.” She crossed her legs at the ankles and gazed at the sniper. “Now, it may be too early for this, but…” Angela paused for a moment, giving Widowmaker a hesitant stare, “do you have any recollection of who you were before the night your sleeper personality was activated?”

Expecting a question such as this, Widowmaker straightened her back and let out a bothered breath. “I do not.”

The doctor wrote down her answer, specifically how she reacted to the question, before speaking again. 

“Alright. Can you tell me more about how Talon treats you?”

“Some put me on a pedestal, others are interested in my physique, but my bosses treat me like a tool.” She spoke honestly, thinking of all the ground soldiers who stared at her whenever she entered a room. The man who treated her the best was Reaper, who respected her skill and focus, but didn’t see her as an object like her superiors. Not that it mattered. Talon made her and she shouldn’t be ungrateful.

The man who construed her assignments was an unforgiving man, and often when she didn’t do as well as he’d like, she was sent to the scientists for speculation, or options to make her more efficient. She wasn’t unfamiliar to the smell of rubbing alcohol and latex, or the bright lights of a surgery room. It never scared her. She didn’t fear the fluids they pumped into her body, or the drill that opened her skull. It was routine. She endured torture when her superior was unhappy with her, but she was numb to it, knowing that it was for the benefit of the doubt. Any fragment of a sign that she was out of line, meant she would see the bright LED lights of the lab again.

“But you are a person, Widow. Can I call you that? It runs off the tongue easier.” She acted so friendly with the assassin, and the sniper wasn’t particularly comforted by it. It was strange when someone didn’t speak to her like they wanted something from her. Of course, Angela did want something from Widowmaker, but at this moment, she just wanted to make her talk. 

Widowmaker shrugged, “call me what you like. Except for…” her lips puckered.

“Except for Amelie?” Angela continued her sentence, immediately knowing what the sniper was going to say. Widowmaker lowered her eyes at the doctor, just asking for her to test her patience. “Why do you abhor that name so much, Widow?”

“You would be annoyed if I constantly referred to you as someone you are not, no?” Widowmaker was surprised by how easily she talked about herself with the doctor, but it felt oddly satisfying to speak what she could not with her commanders. 

“I suppose it would be,” Angela admitted with a light chuckle. “But do you think she is still in there somewhere?” She asked, trying to pry more out of the subject.

“I wouldn’t know. The scientists would, I suppose. They’re the ones who control how my brain works.” Her response was tossed out with little care, but Angela still wrote down every little piece of information. At this point she wondered why she didn’t bring an audio recorder. She glanced at the camera in the corner of Widowmaker’s cell and remembered that it also captured audio. She would evaluate the footage later. 

“Do they… do maintenance on you? Check ups, I suppose you could say,” the doctor’s eyes trailed up Widowmaker’s body, taking in everything from her relaxed, purple toes, to her chartreuse, haunting irises. 

“My body temperature is often taken and regulated. They have a freezer for when I am too warm.” She shrugged, but Angela blinked and furrowed her brows.

“How barbaric…” she commented with a genuine look of concern. Widowmaker tittered at her response, almost amused by the expression of near disgust on the doctor’s face.

“It isn’t too bad. I don’t even feel the cold.” Her lips were curled up into a smirk, and somehow the contours of her face, made something heat up in Angela’s core. 

“So you are not sensitive to cold temperatures, but what about warm climates?” She asked, imagining how the touch of each other’s skin would feel. The dynamic of Angela’s warm, flushed skin next to Widowmaker’s icy, dry complexion. The doctor may have looked a little too long at her subject’s thin hands resting across her chest. She caught herself and made eye contact with the assassin again. There was a suspicious gleam within those honey spheres. 

“I cannot stay out in ninety degree weather if that is what you are asking.” Air conditioning, and the natural cooler air of the night, were her best friends. She was trained to understand body language and she was confused by what she saw in the doctor at this moment. She seemed secretive, nervous almost, and when the assassin noticed where Angela’s eyes laid, she near snorted. “Something caught your eye, Dr. Ziegler?” Her expression was as smug as it could be.

“Hm? Oh, no, I just noticed a little bit of sweat on your skin, do you need something cold?” She played it off as well as she could, but Widowmaker saw past it easily. She, too, went along with Angela’s ploy however, looking down at her arm and wiping away the sweat on her hands with the soft fabric of the scrubs. She took the water bottle and pressed it against the crook of her neck.

“This should be fine. I doubt there is anything on this rock that is cold enough to regulate my body temperature.” Widowmaker smirked at the doctor through the glass, and in turn, Angela cleared her throat and focused her attention back to the science of things.

“We can accommodate your needs. We have a walk-in freezer for rations. Of course, you will have to be sedated, or put to sleep.” She wasn’t about to let her id control her. Widowmaker was purely a specimen for research and a tool for the recently recalled organization of Overwatch. Angela remained composed, but something was oddly alluring about the way the assassin assumed she had control of this interrogation. 

Widowmaker nodded, “I suppose I will be bound as well? Didn’t think you to be one such as that, Angela.” Her voice was dark as she attempted to soften the doctor up and get her stop asking these pointless question. Angela simply scoffed and straightened her back, trying to keep her professionalism convincing.

“It is for safety measures. For everyone involved.” She brushed away a loose strand of hair from her ponytail and tucked it behind her ear. “Now,” she began again, looking down at the holopad to avoid the daunting stare of her subject. “Who is your employer?”  
“Like I would tell you that,” Widowmaker spat out with an arrogant huff.

“All I need is a name.” Angela pressed.

“I do not know his name, cherie.” The doctor looked up with a sigh.

“What about an alias? What does he look like?”

A face came to mind as Angela spoke, and Widowmaker looked to the corner of the room thinking about the large man’s peppered hair, and scarred skin.

“My orders do not come from anyone directly. I am often given an assignment digitally.” Her lie would have convinced anyone else, but the doctor saw behind the facade. Angela played it off as if she believed her, however.

“Via holopad, then?” She asked. Widowmaker responded with a curt nod. “Then how come we did not recover one on your dropship?”

Silence. The assassin only bore into Angela’s gaze with squinted eyes, not actually knowing how to answer.

“Hm… so you see the hole in your story, yes?” The doctor now held a smirk of her own, and Widowmaker rolled her eyes. 

“I am done speaking.” Was all the sniper had to say. Angela nodded and stood from her seat.

“I will be back later to send you to the freezer. Have fun doing nothing.” She turned on her heel and activated the soundproofing mechanism again. 

Widowmaker sat cross-legged on the bed and leaned against the wall behind her. Again, there was nothing to do. Staring up, the woman took a few deep breaths. The patterns in the ceiling revealed a scene. 

A woman holding a gun. It was her, Widowmaker mused, she had it pointed at some odd shape a few inches away. What did it look like, she asked herself as she studied it for a few moments. The shape was splayed out and broad. A flower? No, it was too divided. She squinted at the crevices before realizing, it was a pair of angel’s wings.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating! School and mental health are my priorities right now, but I hope you all enjoy this chapter.  
> Beta reading done by @rnr4ev.

Often when Widowmaker slept, she saw patches of memories on the backs of her eyelids. After Angela had left her to her own devices, the assassin had stared at the ceiling until her eyes became tired and dry. She drifted off to sleep, uncomfortable as her back rested upright against the wall.

She didn’t dream anymore; she just had skewed visions of simpler times when her skin was warm and she could feel goosebumps prickle across her body with even the tiniest hint of a chill breeze.

Amélie never liked the cold. She preferred the sun. She loved warm knit sweaters that always had tags scratching the back of her neck. She loved Gérard and his clammy, calloused hands holding her small, pale fingers.

An image of Egypt flashed in Widowmaker’s mind, and her quiet subconscious made her hand shift to grip the bicep of her arm, as her body attempted to replicate the heat from the sand dunes in her dreams.

Gérard was there, Ana Amari was there, Angela Ziegler was there. They all held equally warm smiles that could rival the sun. The doctor’s blue eyes shone kindly behind Ana as the sniper spoke with Amélie’s husband, and the quiet French woman gave Angela a simple smile.

She felt out of place. Since Gérard joined the strike team, Amélie had made the choice to travel with him. They went everywhere together, and though she would have to stay at a base or headquarters, she never once worried that he wouldn’t return.  
It became harder when his missions lasted for days, weeks even. She found herself opening up to the other soldiers and staff. She had given up ballet for him, but being alone for days at a time, she started to pick it up again. 

Another memory.

The bathroom at the base in Egypt was always quiet and had a few mirrors. It was large enough that Amélie could stretch out and dance. She laid her shoes under the sink before straightening her back and looking at her reflection. Eye bags, disheveled hair. She was tired. The base was always too loud for her to get decent sleep. She blinked a few times before shifting her feet into first position. She plié’d, hearing her knees crack beneath her. It had been too long since she let her body sway to the rhythm of ballet. Her arms outstretched to her sides and up above her head.

She took a few breaths here, her eyes not leaving her reflection. She started to move, spinning and lunging and leaping as much as the large bathroom would let her. She hadn’t noticed the door open behind her, for she was too enveloped in the feeling of freedom she had missed so much. The blonde woman who entered widened her eyes slightly at the sight, but she remained silent with the towel in her arms before standing in awe at the tall, graceful woman completely in her own world. It didn’t take long for Amélie to notice that there was someone else with her as she was in the middle of a couple piqué turns. She stopped, grace going with her poise as a light pink dusted the tops of her ears and the bridge of her nose.

“Oh, by all means do not stop because of me.” The smaller woman said kindly.

“Doctor Ziegler, I was just...um” her words caught in her throat as she attempted to express how she was feeling. Her stuttering was even more embarrassing than being caught dancing in this drab bathroom.

“You are quite good. How long have you been dancing?” Angela didn’t move from where she had been standing, she understood how Amélie must have felt.

“My whole life,” the dancer answered before the vision shifted to another scene.

Now Amélie was restrained to a cold, metal table and lights hurt her eyes, and tears stung her cheeks.

“Let me go, I know nothing!” She shouted to the empty room before a gruff, calculated voice came over the speakers.

“You know more than you think, Agent W.” The voice said. Agent W? Were there more prisoners here? Amélie thought to herself, clawing at the leather straps holding her wrists. The sounds echoed through the room and she looked up as much as she could to see the walls were all mirrors. Two-way, she assumed bitterly before screaming and testing the grip of the restraints.

“LET ME OUT YOU BASTARDS,” she cried in French, as fear was starting to overwhelm her and her body shook from fight or flight adrenaline. The tears were salty and when the memory of the taste developed, the scene changed again.

Now she was tied in a chair above a large pool of some sort of gelatin. Everything was white; the chair, the walls and floor, and even the substance she was suspended above. Sound dampening foam was all around the room, and the only thing she could hear was her own heartbeat. Without warning, she and the chair she was tied to were dunked into the gelatin. She gasped, and the taste of salt filled her mouth and throat and she gagged, before the chair was pulled back out. She took a few deep, shaky breaths, the air in the room suddenly feeling light, almost like helium.

Again her vision changed, and as her body shook with her dreams, she saw the doctor in front of her with a light shining in her eyes to check her pupil’s reactions.

“You gave us quite a scare, Amélie.” Angela’s minty breath was warm against the brunette’s cheeks. Amélie felt lightheaded and her neck hurt.

“...What happened?” She asked predictably.

“Seems like you took a nasty fall down the stairs. I must say, your dedication to wearing heels in commendable.” Her voice was kind, and she placed a cold towel to her patient’s forehead. Angela was so close to her, and her spearmint scent was so alluring as Amélie breathed, still dazed. Somewhere she heard Gérard asking her if she felt okay, but those eyes in front of her were far more interesting. She blinked a few times after the doctor put her light away and smiled. Despite the twangs of pain in her temples, she felt fine.

“Heels always make my legs look phenomenal.” Amélie said lightheartedly. Gérard and Angela looked to each other to share a laugh.

The scene pulled away and as Widowmaker reached her hand out to grip Angela’s wrist, the scene changed to a dark room. It was her bedroom. Her fingers were gripped around a small knife and the blue tone from the bathroom light shone across half her face. There was blood. Hers? No. It was His. Crimson pooled across the sheets and sputtered into her hair from his throat. He was coughing, but she couldn’t hear anything but white noise and church bells in the distance. She pressed a finger into Gérard’s gaping lesion watching his eyes widen in hot pain and betrayal.

“So this is how it feels to be a widow,” she muttered before placing a slow kiss to her husband’s forehead. “Goodnight, Gérard.” She reached for the stained pillow and covered his face, applying pressure. 

Knock  
Knock Knock

“Widowmaker?” A familiar voice stirred her from the memory. She awoke back in the cell and frowned. Angela stood with a pair of handcuffs as Ana and Jack waited behind her.

“Is it time?” The sniper asked, peering at the doctor and giving her body a once over. Why had she dreamed about the few memories of that woman that she had? It wasn’t as if they had ever been close. Not that she remembered, anyways.

Angela nodded and motioned for Jack to unlock the cell. Ana held her sleep dart gun at the ready for any form of aggression, and Widowmaker scoffed at the notion. She stood from the bed slowly, stretching her arms above her head almost to put on a show for the three in front of her. If anyone could make scrubs sexy, she sure could. Angela and Jack shifted their gaze to Ana who stood still.

“I do believe she is going to cooperate.” Angela said with a hand to the older woman’s shoulder. Motionless, Ana held her ground stubbornly as Widowmaker padded over to the glass door. Her golden eyes gazed down at Amari’s eyepatch with a smug mien and Jack unlocked the cell. Turning her back to the group, the assassin crossed her arms behind her to accept the handcuffs. Angela was a little surprised by the prisoner’s lack of defiance, and as she applied the metal bangles, she spoke softly.

“We are going to run some tests. Please cooperate.” Her smooth, mint breath felt so familiar on the back of Widowmaker’s neck. It almost sent a chill down her spine. The assassin nodded, feeling the cold steel pinch her skin where the shackles connected.

“I will cooperate as much as my dignity will allow, cherie.” She commented. Jack chuckled to himself, elbowing Ana.

“An assassin with dignity… Hm.” His gruff voice was followed by Amari’s own stifled snicker and as Widowmaker turned to face them, she swallowed her retort. Fanning the flames within her enemies was entertaining, but she was a prisoner here and she was outnumbered. She understood that if she tried anything, the people around her would throw her to the ground.

“You two need to act more professional,” Angela said, guiding her subject away from the cell, “provoking her is immature and unprecedented, despite what you think of her.” Jack furrowed his brows at her.

“Why are you defending the woman who nearly killed Ana?” Jack pressed, making Amari side-eye him uncomfortably. Dr. Ziegler blinked, who did he think he was, acting like this. Yes, by all accounts, Widowmaker was guilty of many crimes, but that’s what made her so important right now. Everyone could use her knowledge on Talon and Talon’s medical field, everyone could use her extra help on the back-lines of war to eradicate the enemy. She was here for something much bigger than just her past.

Angela just looked away, tightening her grip on her prisoner’s arm. Widowmaker didn’t mind. The warmth of the smaller woman’s fingers reminded her of someone, but now away from slumber, she didn’t remember who. She looked down at Angela. There wasn’t any spite or anger in her features, there wasn’t any tenderness either, but the lack of hostility felt… reassuring to the doctor. They retained a silent gaze for a brief moment, and then Angela cleared her throat and peered over her shoulder to Ana and Jack behind her.

“I am not defending her. I believe provoking her is less fruitful than speaking to her with kindness.” She pinched Widowmaker’s skin gently, causing the woman to glance at her, and Angela gave her a little wink. Jack and Ana stopped walking and looked at each other with confused expressions. Neither of them understood the small interaction between the doctor and her subject. Widowmaker had been here a day and yet Angela had already made her comfortable enough that they shared… unspoken understanding? It was almost remarkable.

“I have come to terms with my eyesight, Jack, do not use it as a ploy to undermine the dear doctor.” Ana said before walking again. Of course, she could never forgive Widowmaker, but if Angela believed there was good within the assassin, she would have to accept that. She hadn’t become bitter in her old age, if anything she learned that taking life one step at a time and welcoming change proved far better than relying on cynicism and resentment. Jack stretched his neck to the side giving it a little pop before closing his eyes and giving a curt nod. He ran a hand through his hair and followed behind the group.

They continued to walk in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds between them being the jangle of handcuffs and the soles of their shoes hitting the concrete. Angela wasn’t lying when she said she was coming back for Widowmaker to take her to the freezer. When they arrived, a few armed soldiers acknowledged the group with widened eyes and salutes.

“At ease,” Morrison mumbled, seeing how stiff the men and women became at the sight of the infamous Widowmaker. Her fuschia lips curled into a smug leer and the troopers shifted restlessly.

“Stop it, Widow.” Angela commanded softly. A breathy chuckle relieved itself from the prisoner’s chest, and the air was still with awkward tension. Widowmaker found it amusing how unsettled she made everyone around her feel. It was an ego-buffer for her, and Angela could tell by the way the tall woman held herself with her shoulders relaxed and lips fixed into a smirk that she controlled the floor. One of the soldiers coughed out a placeholder for the silence, and things began to move again. A woman standing against the wall looked to Morrison who gave her a stern motion, and she turned to wrap her fingers around the steel handle of the freezer and opened it. A gentle mist of cool air poured out and Angela nudged Widowmaker forward.

Inside was rations, frozen biotic supplies, and a single chair. The fluorescent light bulb hanging from the ceiling seemed so archaic in the room covered in light barriers for shelves. The metal walls shone blue from the cold and Widow was reminded of her time spent in Russia.

How the chilling wind felt like an early spring morning to her, and how Reaper and Sombra swore about the cold despite their own bodily modifications. Thinking about it now was ironic, however. All of them were captured, all were currently residing in different places in the world, yet here she was looking into a freezer and wondering if they were in as kind of hands as she was. Not that it mattered. Talon would always pull through, Sombra always had a way out, and Reaper was elusive and deadly in close quarters. Widowmaker only waited for this base to be found and her creators to shuffle her into their dropship as bullets rained towards them.

“Get in,” Ana said, nudging the woman’s shoulder with the barrel of her rifle.

“Whatever you say, mother dearest,” Widow responded. Doctor Ziegler released her gentle grip on the assassin’s arms and as the other woman’s honey eyes looked back at her, she shivered. Angela couldn’t tell if it was the draft from the freezer, or those daunting, cold eyes.

Socks padding against the concrete, Widowmaker walked backwards into the room, eyeing the doctor the whole way. Angela gave her a gentle, almost too-kind smile, as the soldier from before closed the door. Somehow as she sat into the plastic chair, Widowmaker couldn’t remove Doctor Ziegler from her mind. 

 

She expected a few hours of silence, but was surprised when she heard Angela’s voice ring through the icy walls.

“Is this thing on?” She asked gingerly. Widowmaker eyed the room for a camera before nodding. “Ah, good,” Angela started, “are you comfortable?” Her voice seemed genuine enough.

“I am.” Widow answered. “How long has this room been bugged?”

“Since I left you to yourself earlier today. It is a temporary set up.”

“Just for me, then?” She spoke so smoothly, the doctor could have mistaken it for soft if it weren’t for the lilt of flirtation at the end of her question.

“Yes… Just for you,” Angela answered, playing along with her subject’s teasing.

“Mmm,” she heard Widowmaker hum, catching herself gazing at the monitor of the camera’s view a little too long. Somehow the woman’s bizarrely cyanotic skin and deep, plum hair worked so well… and those eyes that could kill were just as bright on the screen as they were in person.

Widowmaker recognized the silence and looked into the camera. Angela’s breath hitched. She looked so much like the woman she’d walked in on in the bathroom many years ago then, poised and confident. She cleared her throat, thinking too much about the memory.

“Do you… do you remember when we first met?” Was the first question out of the doctor’s mouth. She was a little too eager to hear a positive response.

“I do not…” Disappointment. “Not completely, anyways.” Angela’s interest picked up.

“Not completely? What do you remember?” Her breathy excitement was heard through the microphone and Widowmaker chuckled a little. How quaint.

“Your peppermint breath, your soft voice. You have not changed much, I believe."As her thick accent rolled the words from her tongue, Angela sat back from the desk, heat rising to her cheeks. 

“What strange things to remember…” she nearly whispered, beginning to type into her holopad. Smell and touch… incredibly strong senses that were hard to forget, yet Doctor Ziegler felt oddly embarrassed by Widow’s words.

“What else? Do you remember the day, the events around that time?” Angela asked eagerly.

“Only bits and pieces when I sleep. Memories are hard to convey when I am conscious.” Interesting. Her honesty was giving the doctor so much information. Perhaps she would go to Ana to help her create a more efficient dream monitor just for her new subject…

“I know you said, and I quote ‘remember your first kill,’ but how much recollection of your late husband do you have?” Constantly referring to those that were close to Amélie in the past would hopefully spark something in the assassin’s mind, Angela hypothesized.

“His dry, calloused fingers,” Widowmaker rubbed a hand across her forearm, “holding mine.” she looked down at her nails, imagining warmth coiled around them.

Angela didn’t realize she had interlocked her own fingers together until she looked down after she couldn’t bear those golden irises looking at her on the monitor. A smile played on her lips but it diminished when she remembered her professionalism.

Unclasping her fingers, she cleared her throat. “How did he smell? Do you remember?” She pressed. Widowmaker closed her eyes, inhaling through her nose as she searched for the memory.

“Cinnamon… he wore the same cologne whenever he returned from a mission.” The sensation shocked her as his smiling face haunted her mind. She shook her head, searching for the beautiful bloody memory of his murder.

“Don’t resist, Widow. Tell me more.” Angela’s voice was soothing, almost lulling over the intercom. Widowmaker relaxed, listening to her.

“His arms were strong when he held me… He always hugged me for so long when he came back…” She didn’t understand why the doctor’s voice triggered these images, but somehow her skin felt warm where she imagined Gérard’s arm’s were. “His pointed mustache always tickled my lips. I didn’t mind.”

“Now focus your memory on your time at Talon… keep your eyes closed. What were those first two weeks like? Where did they keep you?” Angela continued to push into Widow’s hidden self. Into Amélie.

“I see Amélie… hundreds of reflections of her… mirrors.” She shuddered.

“Was she bound?”

“Oui…” The steel handcuffs rattled behind her as she attempted to get out of them. She was fully immersed in the memory now. Her eyes stung. The doctor squinted at the monitor, watching Widowmaker shake and her nose drip. Was she crying?  
“Who captured you?”

“I… I don’t know.” She paused, her eyes searching the backs of her eyelids for help. Her hair changed color in the mirrors. Black to blue. Still dark, but now far more haunting. “My beautiful hair… cut and damaged.” Her voice was almost raw now, and the humanitarian in Angela stopped her from further questions. She hadn’t asked much at all, but somewhere within that cold assassin, Amélie was awakening.

“Relax, Amélie, you are safe.” She assured, testing the reaction to the name, but Widow did not respond heatedly.

“Let me out of here. Please.” It was a beg. Incredibly out of character for the assassin as she kept her eyes closed, wanting to end the tears. “It’s so cold.” That was strange. Was the memory so strong that it chilled her subject’s sense of temperature? 

She turned off the microphone in a hurry. Standing from her chair and collecting her data, ending the recording. Jack, Ana, and Winston all watched her in shock at how quickly she left the room, heading back for the freezer. 

“Open the door. Now.” She demanded to the guard, her heart racing. “Get a blanket!” She yelled as she ran in by herself, Ana too confused to stop her. Angela gripped Widowmaker’s shoulder, and the assassin screamed, still believing she was in that endless room of mirrors. 

“No, Amélie, it’s me, Angela.” She was near out of breath and as Jack rushed in with a wool blanket, Widowmaker’s eyes snapped open and any form of Amélie disappeared and a seething anger boiled from those golden eyes. Angela put a hand on her shoulder but received a brisk shrug from Widow. The assassin stared them both down, but the doctor wasn’t afraid. She took a step back and bowed her head.

“Forgive me. I pushed you too far.” She said, eyeing her subject apologetically from beneath her bangs. The hot glare didn’t soften at all and she changed her gaze to Morrison who stood silently holding the blanket between his arms.

“I do not need that. I am fine.” He looked to Angela for confirmation and she nodded, motioning for him to leave. He waited at the door with Ana.

“That is enough for today, yes?” She asked. Widowmaker’s cold eyes continued to stay latched onto the doctor, but she managed a soft reply.

“Take me back to my cell.”

Angela helped Widowmaker stand, and held her arms behind her again, those warm fingers a reminder of the doctor’s gentle personality. Widow tore her arms away, not wanting to feel the sensation in this moment. It was easy to say that Angela was hurt by the gesture as she frowned.

Ana took this as a moment for change in leadership and she took hold of the prisoner’s wrists, guiding her back to her cell as Angela left to go collect herself. Jack had abandoned the blanket, and Winston followed behind Ana to take Angela’s spot in the escort. 

The doctor found herself pale in the bathroom mirror. She sighed, taking off her glasses and rubbing them against her lab coat. 

“Why must you always get like this, Angela?” She asked herself in the silent room. She knew she had pushed too far but the desire to reach what little of her old friend was left, blinded her to the damage she was doing. She had made progress, but was it the right way to go about things? She wasn’t sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding this chapter, I wanted the dream sequence to be fast paced and have uncomfortable transitions to somewhat mimic what nightmares can be like. I also incorporated pieces from the Overwatch Insurrection collectibles like Widow's Talon skin (the blue hair) and the spray from her and Gerard's wedding day (mostly his mustache).
> 
> Thank you all for the kudos, bookmarks and subs! It means a lot, and really encourages me to finish up the next chapter.
> 
> Also! If anyone is looking to beta read, you can leave a comment or contact me on my Twitter at twitter.com/aerithot


	4. Chapter 4

After the incident, Angela asked her good friend Genji to speak with Widowmaker. She believed the solace he gained from his master Zenyatta would let him be one of the few who could speak with her. Angela also believed, albeit without telling Genji, that they had a lot in common. 

Widowmaker woke to the bright lights of the cyborg’s body outside of her cell. The warehouse’s lights were still out, making the sniper believe it was still night, or maybe early morning. 

“Have you slept well?” Genji asked softly, the robotic vibration of his voice causing Widowmaker’s eyebrows to furrow. She sat up, her hair messy from the stress of yesterday and the static from her sheets. 

“I get the feeling I have not received my full eight hours.” She looked around the quiet, empty and dark warehouse, her cell just as dark was the space around her.

“Yes, it is only three o’clock.” He answered honestly, walking to the control panel. Widowmaker nodded but watched him with squinted eyes to catch his entire body in the darkness, and not just the circular domes of light around the top of his torso. 

“Are you going to explain your visit?” She asked, finding the line of green across what she assumed was his face.

“We are going on a walk.” He said, unlocking the glass door of the cell. Confused even more by this, Widowmaker ran a hand through her hair and let her legs swing across the edge of the bed. “I am not armed. Will you join me peacefully?”

She breathed in the stale air and realized she needed the crisp, cool hair of the early morning. “I suppose. Is this doctor Ziegler’s idea?” She asked as she stood, stretching her arms over her head. She yawned a long yawn before he answered.

“Yes, she told me she believed I could help you.” Widowmaker snorted in response, padding to the door, to which Genji opened it kindly. Closer to him now, she noticed steam rising from the domes of light, and the softer pieces of armor that contrasted with the rest of his chrome design. 

“I am far beyond help.” She said, following as he began to walk. 

“That may be so, but there is nothing wrong with trying to release a lost soul.” He looked over his shoulder to her, and a sour expression filled her features. 

“Lost? There is no soul in me to begin with.” Their steps echoed against the metal and concrete surrounding them, filling the silence as Genji thought.

“You and I are very similar…” he began, noting her lack of response as an OK to continue. “We both have had our bodies drastically changed. We have both lived lives of crime and dark matter, and we both have loved and lost, yes?”

“And what do you know about my loss? I do not even know who you are.” 

“Ah, forgive me. I am Genji Shimada. I have heard many things about your life.”

“So you are the archer’s relative.” Widowmaker thought aloud. 

“His brother, yes.” Walking outside, they both took large breaths, enjoying the cool air tickling their lungs. It was so crisp and dry compared to the muggy air of her cell and the warehouse. It was a nice change.

“So you joined.... this?” She replied bluntly, her mind remembering her boss informing her of the Shimada clan. 

“Overwatch saved me. As did my master.” He turned to her with a sad smile, one that was covered by his mask, yet the assassin still sensed it. 

“And you expect them to do the same for me? Doubtful.” She crossed her arms over her chest, “I am a murderer without remorse. At least you are capable of gifts such as emotions.” He reached for her elbow to gain her attention, to which she shrugged away immediately. “Do not touch me.”

“Forgive me, but you make many assumptions. I was not a peaceful man before or after the attempt on my life. I was filled with hate and anger. Much like yourself. My body was mutilated and transformed, like yours.” She found a rock to perch upon, finally giving him some eye contact. She sat cross legged with her hands behind her for support, and he squatted in front of her. 

“I am not capable of anger, and any hate I present has been programmed into me.” She said stubbornly, not wanting to see their shared plights.

“Then what of the tears you shed during your memory probe?” His voice was inviting, but his words were so demanding of a reaction. She was stunned by the blow to her pride and her mouth that was pursed closed, opened a tiny bit in shock. She let out a long breath, thinking of how quickly Angela had pushed through her neural barriers, and how the doctor spoke so smoothly that Widow couldn’t help but do as she was told. She stared at Genji hard for a few moments, her molars grinding against each other achingly as her cheeks tensed. 

“Those were not mine. Amelie’s perhaps, but not mine.” Another excuse, another denial that she was not the same person she was ten years ago. Genji sighed, shaking his head and looking to the ground.

“Talon really did a number on you didn’t they?” He brought his hands to the temples of his mask and released the panel covering his face. “Look,” he started, meeting eyes with her, ”I am not here to tell you to listen to me, but only to consider what I have to offer you. Overwatch is only going to help you as much as you let us. Your loyalty to Talon aside, you are still a human, and you do not deserve to be living a fabricated life of hell because someone wanted your husband dead, do you understand that?” His voice raised and echoed across the empty base. “We have no ill-will to force upon you, only hope that you will come back to reality.”

Widowmaker was speechless. It was the first time in a long time that someone spoke so passionately and honestly with her without trying to get something out of it, that she couldn’t think of anything snarky to reply with. She dropped her gaze from his, accepting his monologue. “Fine.” She looked out across the cliff to the crashing waves and took in the scenery. “If that is what I am here for, why should I resist?”

“Let us head back. You would like to go back to bed, yes?”

“Oui.”

~

The assassin’s dreams became centered around Angela after Genji had left her back in her cell. Images of gold wings reaching for a black heart tucked away inside Amelie’s chest, her familiar scent of spearmint filling her senses at the thought of her hair, her skin, her eyes. Angela’s hands cupping her cheek was something she dreamt about a few times that night. The doctor’s soft hands were so distinct in her memory now that that was all she could think about. She awoke to the doctor’s heels approaching.

After the first session, Angela felt abysmal. She felt as if she had betrayed her subject’s trust and taken advantage of how sensitive memories can be. She didn’t sleep that night, and when it was time to meet with Widowmaker the next day, she came with two cups of coffee.

“Is one of those for me?” The woman behind the glass was the first to speak. Angela blinked and looked down at the two mugs, catching her reflection in the rippling, tan beverage and frowned deeper. The ends of her hair were curling into her neck, and wrinkles deepened in her cheeks. 

“I did not sleep much last night,” Angela mumbled, placing a cup on the nearby table, “I can have someone bring a cup if you’d like.” 

“You seem distracted, doctor.” Widowmaker said casually, ignoring the offer. She was not upset about last night, those emotions were for weaker, simple-minded people. She was used to tests such as these from Talon, checking to see if she needed another dose of whatever they pumped into her every now and again. At least here she wasn’t forced into a coma and placed into a liquid chamber. Not that it mattered.

“And you are not?” The doctor responded, a little too much bite in her groggy voice. She met Widowmaker’s eyes for the first time that morning. Her subject smirked.

“The only thing on my mind is you,  _ cherie.”  _ She sounded so sweet, so genuine. Angela took a sip of her coffee, wincing at the burn on the edge of her lips. The pain shifted her mind from the pet name as she sat in that same, blue chair. 

“And why is that?” She asked, placing her second cup on the table and pulling out her holopad. 

“I dreamt about you.” The doctor’s heart responded to that with a beat too soon. She cleared her throat, and wiped her eyes that ached for sleep.

“So last night’s session is allowing you to remember your dreams? I do not think I believe you. It’s too soon.”  _ In the treatment _ , she wanted to continue, but she figured that would cause Widowmaker to raise her guard again.

“I remember seeing you at my wedding.” She said, hoping to get some form of reaction from the doctor.

“I did not go to your wedding.” What a blatant lie, Angela thought to herself. She, more than anybody, knew that she came to watch the woman throw whatever grandeur life she lead away for Overwatch’s French Ambassador.

She remembered sitting in a pew close to the back, close to the wall. She stayed for the ceremony, leaving her gift with the welcoming table at the entrance of the winery, before leaving. Gabriel and Ana were there. Jack couldn’t come. Later that night, Ana and Gabe would talk about how beautiful the reception was, and how gorgeous the vineyard looked during the sunset. Angela never enjoyed going to weddings. She was married to her work.

“I saw you leave. It hurt Amélie’s feelings.” Widowmaker pressed, the familiar scent of champagne and cake swirling in the back of her mind from the dream.

“How could you possibly remember that? We hardly knew each other then. I had just started working for Overwatch.” She reached for her cup again, thinking about how perfect Amélie and Gérard looked together. So ridiculously perfect. 

“I already told you.” She said smoothly.

“You can’t possibly… it’s just not likely that you could remember those things after a day.” Excitement took over any hint of resentment left in her tired speech. She quickly typed into her holopad, beeps from the keyboard filling the silence. Watching her from her bed, Widowmaker’s expression remained neutral as she nodded. She stayed quiet, but she wanted to speak more about what she saw behind her eyelids last night. 

“Tell me more.” Angela asked, still typing away.

“That coffee of yours…” the woman raised a slim finger to point at Angela’s cup, “it has hazelnut creamer in it, no?” 

“...it does.”

“Amélie made you a cup once, to thank you for treating her concussion after she fell down the stairs.” That wasn’t completely correct, Angela thought, but as the memory surfaced in her own mind, she took a deep inhale of the beverage’s scent. A placid smile curled the ends of her lips, and the heat from the mug thawed her stiff fingers.

_ You never had a concussion. I just wanted to see you again _ . The thought rang through the doctor’s mind, and she took a sip of her coffee.

“I remember,” Angela finally said, meeting Widowmaker’s harsh, honey eyes, “you were wearing a new pair of heels you got as a gift for your wedding.”  _ The ones I left. _

“Heels make my legs look-”

“Phenomenal. I know.” She finished her subject’s sentence, biting her tongue as her eyes wandered down to those long, slim limbs. Widowmaker knit her brows together, a little taken aback by the interruption, but somehow the doctor knowing what she was going to say was… a pleasant surprise. She couldn’t quite explain the feeling to herself, and after a moment, she smiled back at Angela. A minute, steady grin that dropped after a mere second. Then it was back to that same thin line on her face. No smirk, no smile, no frown.

“How much more do you remember?” Enthusiasm clear in her tone, Angela eagerly awaited a tangible response. She crossed her legs and straightened her back, positioning her holopad firmly on her thighs. Her fingers were at the ready to type. 

“It’s skewed, but we went to Egypt together, no?” Widowmaker closed her eyes, feeling for the memory, beckoning it to return.

“Ana and I were at the base. Gérard brought you to visit.” The doctor clarified, remembering it herself. Widowmaker nodded, crossing her legs and leaning against the wall. The bed squeaked, and somewhere in the back of her mind, Amélie was pushing through, reminding Widowmaker of the noisy beds at the Egyptian base.

“I believe that was when you and I became more than acquaintances.” Widow said evenly, opening her eyes to give Angela a once-over. “You have not aged.” A special heat spread through the doctor’s chest and face, and she distracted herself with her holopad.

“How do you know we became friends, then? Tell me more.” Pretending to type, Angela cleared her throat and kept her head down.

“Hm… we met in a restroom.” Already knowing she was going to hear a similar answer, the doctor took a soothing breath, attempting to calm her racing heart beat. Widowmaker knew all too well what she was doing to Angela. Amélie was always aware of the doctor’s crush. She was so transparent, and the dancer loved the attention when Gérard was away. “You came to take a shower, and Amélie was there, dancing.” Her toes pointed with the memory, and her fingers relaxed. 

“That is true. Anything else?” Angela silently wished.

“No… the rest is blackness.” Widowmaker looked to the ceiling, finding those angel wings she had spotted yesterday. “ _ Ange… _ ” she whispered to herself.

“What was that?” Angela asked, looking up from her holopad with furrowed brows.

“Ah, nothing.” The assassin replied. Acknowledging the feel of the air, Angela didn’t press for an answer. For a moment, their eyes met. There were no hard feelings between them, and the space felt warm and pulling. No judgement, and no suspicion.

There was an unspoken trust in this moment, but remembering the position she had, Angela was the first to break the silence. “I want to talk to you about your transition.” With a couple swipes of her index finger, the doctor found the readied questions and documents under the file,  _ Talon _ .

“That I do not remember much of. Other than what you exposed me to yesterday.” Widow’s voice was soft, but the end of her words stung with bitterness.

“The mirrors?” Angela started, attempting to fuel a reaction from her subject.

Her periwinkle lips formed a frown, and Widow looked away to nod.

“What kind of facility was it? Underground? A warehouse?” Speaking as numb as she could, Angela tried to keep herself from letting her remorse and desire to please everyone affect her work.

“Underground. I woke up tied to a metal table. It was cold.” A familiar chill ran down Widowmaker’s spine, as the memory surfaced again. She gripped her wool blanket and pulled it across her lap for comfort. Angela’s eyes were glossy from tears attempting to sting her eyelashes. Somehow seeing the never-wavering, poised woman reduced to such terrible memories made her empathy crack, but she continued.

“How many mirrors were there?”

“They covered the walls.”

“Did you see anyone?” Onto the mundane questions.

“No, but I heard the voice of the man who would later become my employer.” She remembered how hollow the voice from the speakers was. A deep, gruff, and hollow male voice that made Amélie believe she would die.

“Who is your employer?”

“I am not at liberty to say.” Her sharp eyes lowered to the blonde, and those lips stayed in their neutral line.

“Widow, I need you to tell me.”

“If I tell you, my life is expendable.” Her voice raised only a bit, but the gravity of it surprised Angela.

“You are not expendable, Am-... Widowmaker. You are a vital asset.” She spoke quickly and a little too loudly. She looked around to make sure no one heard her lose her composition before leaning closer to the glass and whispering, “We  _ need _ you.”

“What you ‘need’ are my capabilities. Not me.” She snapped her head to the side, her lips almost a pout.

“Are there more like you?” Angela demanded, the whisper growing into a heated query.

“There will be.” 

“Who has been kidnapped?”

“Oh,” Widowmaker turned with a coy grin, “no one was kidnapped. Talon has a recruiting system. That is all I will say.”

“You know more than you’re telling me, Widow. What good is it to protect the terrorists who maimed you?” There it was, loud and honest. Angela froze, realizing what she’d said, realizing what she had implicated. If Widowmaker could feel seething anger, she would have stood from the bed and threatened Angela, but instead she just sighed, her eyes squeezing together to bring her senses back to her. 

“They give me food, shelter, and whatever I need to be comfortable.” She responded, eyes scanning the glass box Overwatch called a cell.

“What? And Overwatch wouldn’t? I told you if you need anything, to ask me.” She closed the files in the holopad and stuffed it into her coat pocket. “Do you want out?” She stood from the chair, walking to the control panel. “I’ll let you out.” Widow sat wide-eyed in her bed, not expecting the doctor to be so… willing in the daylight. She nodded, slowly, almost hesitantly. “Fine.”

Angela called Ana and Genji down to the holding cell, and once they all gathered, she unlocked the cell.

“Do not attempt to escape, we are all very capable individuals.” Genji spoke as Widow stood from the creaky bunk. 

There was no need for cuffs, Angela decided. She and Ana had theirs guns, and Genji, his shurikens. Angela placed a hand on the small of Widow’s back to which there was no response and pointed towards the recreational area. As they arrived, soldiers scattered from the group. There was a clear area that was used for dancing, a ping pong table, and a door leading to the mess hall and kitchen. All eyes were on the tall sniper, but Angela grabbed their attention. 

“Everyone! Please continue your activities, we are just passing through!” And so they left for the cliffs of Gibraltar. Ana unloaded a crate that was prematurely placed there for other members of the base, and handed everyone a bottle of water and a snack. 

“Many of our grunts jog here in the morning. We left this crate out for them if they needed anything.” Angela said. She sat in a grassy patch overlooking the lighthouse, and Ana and Widow joined her. Genji sat a few feet away to bask in the silence out here, enjoying the salty air and crashing waves.

“If this is what you need to keep from being restless, we can have our conversations out here.” Angela said. Ana nodded before adding her own input.

“We do not need you breaking the glass.” A smile smirk played on her lips and it took Widow a moment to realize she was joking. 

“I much prefer the fresh air over that dingy box.” Replying as she unwrapped her granola, Widowmaker began to relax.  

“But since we have already spoken today, why don’t we just enjoy the scenery?” The doctor gave Ana’s shoulder a little pat, and the three of them rested in silence. Thinking on it, the assassin much preferred sightseeing to having enemies in her sights. No pressure, no orders berating her ears, just her and the smooth lapping of water below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After months, chapter 4 is finally here! Forgive me for the wait!  
> I did not proofread this chapter, so if anything sounds funky, let me know in the comments.  
> I wasn't quite sure how to end this one so if it's a little sudden, that's why.  
> Thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoyed!  
> _EDIT_  
> Along with the first chapter, I've erased Hanzo from the story because despite him and Widow having good banter, I feel like Genji is more suitable for this fic because of his role in it. Thanks for your patience.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 is finally here. If you haven't already, check out chapter 1 and 4 for edits I've made. Hope you enjoy this update!

_ Back into the box…  _ Ana’s voice echoed in Widowmaker’s mind as her fingers deftly turned the first page of a book Angela gave her. Her nails scratched against the leather cover and she crossed her legs comfortably.

Poetry, Angela had called it. The assassin had her collection of poetic anthologies strewn across her library in Chateau Guillard, but they collected dust and reeked of age. The glimpse of a memory climbing the oak rolling ladder to reach a novella filled her thoughts. The smell of the rose scented paper reminded her of the flowers her mother had planted across the balconies. She was young then, perhaps fifteen or sixteen when she read her mother’s romance novels in secret. This one was filled with recipes for the perfect love potion. It was all bullshit, but the internet didn’t have this kind of novelty and genuity.

Blinking away the intrusive thought, she looked down at the title of the first poem. “Ode to Aphrodite”… the name felt so familiar, but memories of literature from her past were paper thin. A twist in her gut let her know that there was a reason Angela had given her this book. She skimmed a few lines, and an unknown warmth swept softly down her chest.  

 

_ What my frenzied heart craved in utter yearning, _

_ Whom its wild desire would persuade to passion? _

 

She muttered the words to herself, thinking of Gerard and what passion he had in his eyes whenever he returned home from a long deployment. Following that feeling, a memory surfaced of the sweet doctor smiling patiently and offering her hand to Amelie as she wiped tears away from missing her dear husband. 

“A beautiful face like that should not be stained with tears,” the angel presented a little white handkerchief. Amelie looked to her pitifully, a grateful smile forming under her snotty nose.

“I probably look ridiculous.” She made a strained chuckle as she wiped some eyeliner from under her eyes.

“Not at all, _Schäri _, you just need a shoulder to rest your head on.” Sitting down next to her friend, Angela revealed a tiny bottle of wine she had pocketed during a commercial flight back to Switzerland. She offered it to Amelie who only became more emotional, letting more tears flow just from the absolute purity and kindness from the woman beside her. Her shaky, pale hand reached for the gift and she gently pulled out the cork. “I was going to save it for myself, but you look like you need it more than I do.”__

____

Amelie nodded before taking a sip.

____

“Gerard has been gone so long… I didn’t think I could miss someone so much. He hasn’t called, or even messaged me.” She took another sip, and Angela let a warm hand comfortingly brush away a tear. 

____

“The team has been keeping communication quiet for our safety. I know it’s hard,” her voice was a low whisper, “but I feel in my heart that everything is okay.” She rubbed Amelie’s back softly, attempting to calm her. Setting the bottle to the side after finishing it, the brunette leaned into Angela. The tears slowly stopped as they sat silently.

____

“You’re the kindest woman I’ve ever met, Angela.” She blinked away lingering tears and gently gripped the doctor’s hand, interlocking their fingers. The blonde felt her chest thrum with a racing heartbeat, her feelings for her friend consuming her body, spreading warmth in her cheeks, her chest, her toes. 

____

“And you… you are the most talented… charming woman  _ I’ve _ ever met…” They both lingered close, the only sound between them their breaths and the pulse of their hearts. 

____

The memory faded, and Widowmaker looked away from the book, and to the blue chair outside of the cell. She visualized the doctor, imagined her with that patient, passive smile she always held. Widowmaker despised it, but she knew Amelie loved it, and the rise of that memory made the assassin see the appeal. 

____

Before leaving her the book and a reading lamp, Angela had given Widowmaker a device to use whenever she needed something, and right now, all she wanted was answers. Maybe Widowmaker didn’t want closure, but Amelie did. She  _ needed _ it. 

____

Doing as Angela had told her earlier, she pressed the obvious button to summon the doctor. She sat patiently for a few minutes, and Angela arrived in her lab coat, pajamas, and slippers. She also had a cup of tea that she sipped away at as she strolled to deactivate the soundproofing. 

____

“You needed something?” She asked softly, keeping herself planted next to the control panel.

____

“An explanation.” Widowmaker said, walking up to the glass. Angela sighed, expecting this.

____

“If you want to know what we’re doing with y-” she was stopped by the other woman raising her hand to silence her.

____

“That isn’t what I wanted to know. Not yet, at least.” She got painfully close to the glass, letting her hand mirror Angela’s on the other side. Widowmaker had her hair down, and the bottoms of her scrubs rested low on her hips. The blonde licked her lips anxiously, the familiarity of this closeness reminding her of a memory from so long ago. 

____

“What… what do you need explained, Widowmaker?”  She dropped her gaze, sipping at her chamomile and dropping her hand from the glass. Her whole body felt cold from fear. What was she so scared of? Confrontation? It was silly, she thought. There was no way Amelie could remember something so unimportant. Nothing happened.

____

“Why didn’t you kiss me that night?” Angela’s eyes shot up and her grip on the handle of her mug loosened in fright, making it fall to the ground and shatter. 

____

“I-I…  _ shit.” _ She muttered curses as she leant down to pick up the pieces, cutting herself in the process with the sharp porcelain. The hot tea stained her pants and hurt her legs, and her reflection showed the pure embarrassment and horror on her face.

____

“Well? You know when I’m talking about, correct?” She squat down to be at the same level as Angela who just avoided those honey eyes. 

____

“So you called me down here just to talk about something from your past life? Something insignificant?” Her chest felt so tight, and if she wasn’t so focused on the sound of Amelie’s voice, she might have disassociated from the stress. 

____

“I told you I wanted an explanation.” Widowmaker cocked her head to the side, enjoying Angela’s lack of composure. Looking down at her, the blonde finally met her gaze, bloodied hands holding the broken mug.

____

“You—er… Amelie was vulnerable. I wasn’t going to take advantage of that and possibly destroy our friendship.” She stood with a sigh, walked to the trash and tossed the porcelain shards. She took a few steadying breaths, rolling  her shoulders and closing her eyes to think for a moment. 

____

She wanted to kiss her, to sweep her off her feet and hold her close. She wanted to wake up with her friend’s arms wrapped around her waist and that nose resting in the crook of her neck, but she knew she couldn’t have it. She couldn’t have a married woman. Especially one married to another dear friend, dear Gerard. 

____

“She wanted it, you know.” Widowmaker pressed, standing once again. Her words brought Angela out of the memory.

____

“What?” Her voice was meek, but astonished.

____

“She had fallen in love with you while Gerard was away. You were all she wanted. You could’ve given her what she wanted. Given her an excuse to forget the heartache Gerard gave her.” Widowmaker felt Amelie scratching out, forcing herself to Angela. “I can feel it. I can  _ feel _ it, Angela.” Tears formed in both of their eyes, Angela’s much more blubbery and obvious. She looked away and Amelie tapped on the glass to gain her attention again. “Let me out. All the cameras are off, right?”

____

She looked to the one in the corner of the cell, noticing that the red recording light wasn’t on.

____

Angela used her coat to wipe her face before nodding vigorously.

____

“Yes… Yes they are.” Her shaky hands unlocked the cell door with the control panel. She gulped, frozen to the spot near the wall as Amelie walked closer. Walked with  _ determination.  _ Walked so fiercely that Angela half-believed what she just did was a mistake. That it was all a ruse Widowmaker developed to take her life. But it wasn’t her life Amelie was after, it was her heart. 

____

Amelie closed the distance, both hands gripping the sides of Angela’s face, pulling her into a kiss filled with emotions of the past. She could feel both of their tears mesh together. She could feel the warmth she was missing for years, the heat she needed, the emotions she had lost. Angela shivered against Amelie’s cold embrace, but not from the cold. No, it was the shock of love and fulfilled desire that she locked away for all this time. Amelie pressed against her, pushing her back into the wall. Angela’s head was so fuzzy, and thoughts of the spilled chamomile tea left her mind as her hands found their way into the taller woman’s soft, plum hair. Amelie’s hands drifted from her forgotten love’s cheeks and down to her hips, letting her knee press between her thighs. Angela pulled away, taking a deep breath, and Amelie bore those honey eyes into her. 

____

“If I had known…” Amelie silenced her with a soft kiss.

____

“We cannot change the past.” She pressed another smooch to Angela’s forehead, lingering to take in that familiar scent of spearmint. They stayed silent for a few minutes, just looking at each other. With a smile, Angela broke the silence.

____

“I hope now you will be more cooperative in our tests.”

____

“If that is what you wish,  _ ange.” _

____

Everything seemed so real, but Angela woke to Widowmaker thumping the glass trying to wake her. Turns out, the good doctor hadn’t let her out at all. When things had gotten too much for her, she’d fainted near the trash can. She thought she was relaxed but in truth, she had completely conked out. Now, more than ever, she was completely and utterly embarrassed that she just left. Didn’t come back or send anyone to clean up the puddle of tea, didn’t change her soiled pajama pants. Just sat at her computer and distracted herself with more data from the earlier events in the freezer. 

____

Amelie, however, grew annoyed when Angela left without a word, but she figured she needed to be left alone. Maybe it was too much. Feeling the beginning of a headache, she knew she had strained herself as well, and decided to turn off her reading lamp, toss the book back onto the desk, and go to sleep. She wondered what made Angela so shaken that she fainted, but shrugged it off. Maybe she’d find out tomorrow.

____


End file.
